The Astrology Club
by RoboMonkey2012
Summary: Humanstuck AU featuring the twelve beta Trolls, Ancestors, Dancestors, Exiles, Kids, a few Lusii, a few Guardians, and maybe Hussie in there somewhere. Better summary inside.
1. Be the Crazy Shipper Girl

Summary: Katherine LeJaune is a not-so-ordinary high school sophomore and creator of the cult classic webcomic _Housetrapped _living in the not-so-ordinary town of Skaiopolis, USA. One day, she has the brilliant idea of starting a club, or rather, a secret roleplay society, called The Astrology Club. Its mission? To spread the message of spontaneity through secret, organized roleplay in public places. There will be aliases, disguises, and a set scenario; all the members have to do is be themselves. Knowing her friends, Kitty's sure that some interesting conversations will happen in-character, maybe enough to be able to start asking for tips, but let's not get ahead of ourselves here. The club isn't exactly legal, in the defined sense of the word, and Principal Kurtz has put a ban on just-for-fun clubs. It's underground for now, but let's hope that Kitty and her friends don't get arrested-again. Add in teenage drama, an older sister's ex-boyfriend, and a four-point sliding grid of relationships, and things are gonna get real ugly, real fast.

* * *

The Astrology Club

Chapter 1: Kitty

Your name is Katherine "Kitty" LeJaune, and today is totally, absolutely, _purrfectly, _your day.

You can just smell it from the minute you wake up in your bed, along with the absolutely amazing pancakes Muriel is making, but today's success smells not of incredible pancakes, but of friendship and success!

A big grin on your face, you nod determinedly at Naruto on your wall opposite your bed.

"Believe it!" you say to him, returning his big thumbs-up. "Yep, Naruto, today's gonna be _purr-_fect!"

Out of habit, you take a look around your bedroom, or the best room in the whole house, according to you.

Being the acclaimed author and artist of multiple webcomics, it's not unusual you have several instruments of art supplies scattered around your rather small room such as your faithful drawing tablet, plugged into your computer, as well as watercolor paints and brushes, colored pencils, Sharpies in every color of the rainbow(that may or may not have been borrowed from your friend Callie), and more than a few boxes of crayons, sequins, cotton balls, and anything else you'd find at a preschool arts-and-crafts table.

And any good artist needs inspiration, so your slouching walls are painted bright green and plastered in posters from your favorite TV shows, video games, and movies, as well as a very large one for possibly your all-time favorite webcomic, _Problem Sleuth._

Oh, popular media. Your life nectar! So many ships, so little time.

But the media isn't your only inspiration, of course. You also get inspiration from your friends, of which you are glad to say you have many.

In fact, the tolling of your computer tells that a certain Ophee is beckoning you to chat before school, which is fine, considering it's only six-thirty and the bus arrives at seven-thirty.

You plop down in your comfy beanbag chair before your desk and bring your tablet into your lap. You suppose you don't have the greatest handwriting, but your computer recognizes it and that's good enough for you.

**-uranianUmbra began pestering arsenicCatnip at 6:29:43.-**

**UU: **hey kitty! ^u^

**AC:** :33 *ac stalks sneakily around back of UU, being careful not to make sounds*

**AC:** :33*she wiggles her rump and pounces on UU with a big smile on her face*

**AC:** :33 *ac says "good morning UU!" and rubs her head against her furriend's cheek*

**UU:** aww ^u^ rUbs behind ac's ears who's a good kitty? yoU are, ac!

**AC:** :33 "that f33ls nice :33" ac says while purring

**UU:** anyway kat, i wanted to say hi before class today becaUse yoU know how mondays are sometimes, right?

**AC:** :33 *ac nods* thats right! so hi

**UU:** hi! Um anyway, yoU won't do anything really weird this week, right Kitty?

**UU:** like wearing yoUr fUll cat costUme to school or painting yoUr locker green?

**AC:** :33 *ac makes no promises and that was one time!*

**UU:** sighs

**UU:** anyway jUst don't do anything to get yoUrself in troUble, okay?

**AC:** :33"i wont," ac says* "you worry too much, calli33!"

**UU:** i jUst don't want any of my friends to go to jail :U

**AC:** :33 *ac sighs* dont worry calli33, i wont go to jail!

**AC:** again.

**UU: **glad to hear it! ^u^

**UU:** anyway, bye!

**AC: **:33*ac will s33 her furriend later at school* by33 calli33!

**UU:** kisses!

**-uranianUmbra ceased pestering arsenicCatnip at 6:43:12-**

You smile at your friend. Callie always finds ways to make people smile. She's good at that. There's a reason she's your friend, after all!

Feeling yet more energized at the day set before you, you put on your favorite blue kitty-cat-hat that you'd never ever leave home without and set about going down to the kitchen to hunt for pancakes.

There she is, your unsuspecting sister, cheerfully preparing pancakes for you and her, and serving a dish to your housecat, Pounce de Leon, who is pawssibly the cutest and purrhaps the bestest kitty you have ever s33n!

You tiptoe unnecessarily down the low, carpeted hallway towards your amazing and delicious breakfast prepared by Muriel, your favorite and only big sister-slash-mom. Maybe Murie remembers from when you used to roleplay together, when she could hear you coming. When you were not Katherine and Muriel LeJaune, but Nepeta and Meulin Lejion, the greatest pair of huntresses to ever come out of Alternia!

But those days are over and gone, you think to yourself sadly, and stop your stalking to walk normally.

Muriel sees you before you wave and say, "Good morning!" in your usual cheerful manner.

"HELLO SISTER!" Muriel says in her normally-too-loud voice. She's been learning to speak again for the first time since she lost her hearing when she was your age, a feat you find admirable for someone who can't remember what her voice sounded like, nor what volume was.

"Volume," you say, making the turn-it-down motion with your hand. You and Muriel have, in addition to normal English Sign Language, a veritable library of gestures such as 'volume down,' 'I love you' and 'up yours.' The last one is usually only used jokingly or to other people, which they normally understand. You and Muriel are very close, especially since mom and dad died when you were three and Muriel was ten.

Muriel smiles apologetically. "Sorry," she says, turning down her volume.

You nod, indicating that the volume was correct this time.

"The pancakes smell good," you say.

"I made them," Muriel says, enunciating every word carefully like your friend Katarina Maryann-Amestrian. (She always insists on using all three names.) "Are they good?"

You pick up your plate and take a bite, syrup and butter getting all over your fingers. You often forget to use silverware.

You nod. "Mmph-hmph," you say with your mouth full, beginning to inhale your share of pancakes before Muriel sits you down at the table and hands you a fork.

You sigh and eat the food like a civilized human being, but that doesn't stop it from being gone within half a minute.

"Go slow," Muriel says uselessly, because all the pancakes are gone by this time. "Stomach will hurt badly."

"I know, I know," you say with a joking roll of your eyes. "Alternia's greatest huntress needs her fuel!"

"Huntress needs manners," says Muriel. "Manners- important. Will come in handy in social situations."

You give in. "Sorry."

"Is no problem," says Muriel. "Sister finished?"

You look down at your empty plate. "Yes."

"I will clean," Muriel says, stacking the plates and glasses and carrying them to the sink. "Sister must go to learn."

"The bus isn't here yet," you say.

Muriel sets a hand on your shoulder. You think she's about to deliver profound older-sister wisdom but instead she says, "Breath smells. Hair messy. Clean yourself, sister."

You have to smile a little. Muriel may speak differently, but she's still the same Meulin Lejion you used to play with on good days in good homes.

"I will," you say.

Muriel nods and begins to clean the dishes. You don't own a dishwasher and even if you did, it would break quickly. All your technology does, especially the television and Muriel's computer, though your friend Edward's father Horace Zahhak usually comes and fixes them. You like Horace. He's nice.

As you work a comb through your insanely-curly reddish-brown hair, a familiar engine rumbles along outside your house. A split second later, a vibrating noise comes from the kitchen, accompanied by a call rom Muriel, "BUS IS HERE, SISTER!"

You forget the comb and snatch your bag, hat in hand, pouncing over the plushy green sofa like a big tiger or something. You swing into the kitchen and give Muriel a quick hug before flinging the door open and sprinting down the sidewalk to the bus stop, which, luckily, isn't far from your door.

"GOODBYE, SISTER!" Muriel calls.

"Bye!" you shout back as you sprint, your heart pounding in your chest. Today will be a purrfect day, you'd bet your last boondollar!


	2. Be the Skateboarding Blind Girl

The Astrology Club

Chapter 2: Deanna

Your name is Deanna Pryah and you can smell colors.

It's not that unusual, for a blind kid. One sense is compromised by a knife to the face by Vicky's mess of a mother, the others make up for it. It's pretty sweet, actually. You can tell where people are without seeing them.

Like now, as you and your favorite honorary sister are walking to school together. Her heavy sneakered feet clomp beside the rolling of your skateboard wheels on the asphalt. You can smell her, blueberry T-shirt, licorice hair and jacket and jeans and sneakers on the ground. She's stuck her hand in her pocket like she always does, and has slung the strap of her heavy-duty backpack over the other shoulder, the one without the arm on the end. The fleshy-smelling clunky prosthetic left arm sticks out of her backpack. She hates wearing it, and it's lucky it's detachable. It's also great for scaring people away and for halloween decor.

You drift to the left to avoid a hydrant. It's a trick your sister Lillian taught you after the Incident years ago: listening carefully to the sound waves flowing like water around objects. Read them, and learn where objects are. That's how you know where to steer.

"Hey," Vicky says in her usual gruff, gravely voice, throwing off your concentration. You nearly fall, and grab onto Vicky's ready arm. That happens when you talk while skating, you can't concentrate on the sound waves and you crash. That's why Vicky has to keep an arm ready if she wants to have conversation while walking.

"What?" you reply. Your voice is higher, clearer. Younger, kind of, which makes sense because you're exactly one year and three weeks apart. Your West African heritage is evident in the sound of your voice, the same way Vicky's voice tells of maybe Russian and Norwegian blood. Voices are another thing you notice. Combined with the smells and the sounds, you can get a pretty good picture of the world, even if you can't see it. You feel sorry for LeJaune's sister. You don't know where you'd be without sound.

"Didja hear Cupid's starting a club?" she says.

"Nope," you say. "No one told me. What's it for?"

You can hear Vicky's jacket rustle as she shrugs. "'Cause she can, I bet."

"Like the time she painted her locker green?" you guess. "Or when she offered to dry-clean Dr. Lester's tie after she spilled ink on it, and then bought a new tie and painted aliens all over it?"

"Like that, yeah," Vicky says. "Only I'm pretty sure no one's getting arrested this time."

You smirk. "Yeah, had enough of that."

"You know it!" Vicky says with a chuckle.

The Incident was years ago. You've had your share of angst and trauma and nightmares about it, now you can laugh. Besides, playing hide-and-seek is _soooooooo_ much more fun without any light at all. You could do without the running into things, though.

"So what's this little club-thing about?" you ask.

"Something to do with Astronomy," Vicky says, shrugging again with the telltale rustle of her jacket. "Maybe her comic?"

"Housetrapped?" you ask. "What does Astronomy have to do with Housetrapped?"

"Knowing Kitty it's some kind of elaborate shipping plot with that grid-thing," Vicky sighs. "Let's hope she's not gonna Spade us again."

"Yeah," you agree. "That didn't really work out, did it?"

Silence passes. You can hear the sounds of the school morning over the next hill.

"Still gonna beat your ass, though," Vicky says challengingly.

"You wish, spiderbitch," you say cockily.

"Hell yeahs, dragonass!" Vicky retorts.

You both laugh. 'Affectionate' nicknaming was part of your relationship. Besides, you've always been Dragonass since you both were ten, the same way Vicky's been Spiderbitch.

Vicky keeps a hand on your shoulder as the ground tilts downwards towards Skaiopolis High. Hills are the enemy to a blind skateboarder.

As you and Vicky roll down the hill, the scent of fresh grass from the sports fields hits your sensitive nose. You can smell the mixture of colors coming from the noisy waves of students going under the building's entryway arches and the dry, cementy smell of the architecture itself.

"Deanna!" a familiar voice calls. You smell the kitty dandruff and paint before you hear the voice of Kitty "Cupid" LeJaune, a buddy of yours. She's tiny for a Sophomore, four foot three, ninety pounds soaking wet. She's got this mane of red curls whose color smells like cinnamon and a gajillion freckles that smell the same way, but fewer than her sister. She's usually way more colorful than Vicky, smelling like freshly-cut spinach(which is amazing and you don't care what anybody else says) and blue raspberry cupcakes, which is a weird combination but somehow works. In addition to all this, you can smell(metaphorically, this time) the ideas up her baggy green sleeves.

"Sup, Cupid," Vicky says, sticking her hands in her pockets.

"I can tell you're excited about something," you say.

"You'd be right~" Kitty sings. Her sneakers scratch on the sidewalk as she twirls on the balls of her feet. "I had the most _purrfect_ idea last night in the shower!"

"What might it be?" you say.

"Well," she says. "I've decided to start a club! It's called the Astrology Club, but really it's an acronym."

"Neat," you say.

"Acronym for what?" Vicky asks.

"I haven't thought of that yet," Kitty says, her cheery voice faltering. "But when I come up with it it'll be awesome!"

"So what exactly does this little squad do?" Vicky says, her voice sounding a touch patronizing.

"It's a secret roleplay club," Kitty whispers. "Don't tell anybody, especially not Principal Kurtz! He'll have it shut down!"

"So why are you telling us?" you ask.

"Because..." Kitty says. "Deanna!"

"What?"

"You're co-president!"

"What?"

"With Carlos!"

_"What?"_

You're stunned. Why you? Why not Ed or Marina or someone actually good at leading people? You just get them tossed in jail after a fair trial by an unbiased jury!

She places a plastic rectangle in your hand. It smells like seawater and taffy and your sister Lillian's walls and what your eyes used to be. Words are punched in Braille, presumably underneath written words. It reads:

_Deanna Pryah- Junior- 16_

_ Libra_

_ Club Co-President_

_ Blue Team_

_ Terezi Pyrope- Midblood_

_ sig._ .

There's an empty space to the left, presumably where your most recent school picture is, and hopefully that and not your most recent selfie. You're pretty sure you ended up taking a picture of your boobs.

"Whoa whoa whoa," Vicky says. "What makes you sure Dee wants to join your little underground geek squad?"

"It's a secret roleplay society," Kitty insists. "And I asked you about joining, remember?"

You flash back to last night at around 2 AM.

AC: :33 hey d33!

GC: WH47 15 17

GC: FUCK 1M T1R3D

GC: Y0U SH0U1D G0 T0 B3D K177Y

AC: :33 d33 this'll only take a second! *ac swears on the heart of every fell beast she's killed for king and country*

GC: F1N3 WH4T 15 I7

GC: 1M G0NN4 P455 0U7 70M0RR0W 1 5W34R T0 G0D

AC: :33 *ac smiles* i'm starting a club! wanna be co-president?

GC: WH47

GC: SUR3

GC: WHY N07

GC: N0W G0 T0 B3D 41R34DY

AC: :33*ac curls up into a little ball* goodnight d33!

"Yeah, I guess that did happen," you say sheepishly. "I kinda forgot."

"Nice," Vicky sighs.

"I was half-asleep," you defend. "Spiderbitch."

She pokes you in the shoulder. "Dragonass."

"So are you in?" Kitty asks eagerly.

"Yeah," you say. "Yeah, it could be fun. Roleplay, right? And secret?"

"That's correct!" Kitty says. You can hear the beam in her voice. "What about you, Vicky?"

You turn your head in Vicky's direction. She's silent, which probably means she's thinking.

"What the hell," she decides. "We're doing FLARP too, right?"

"Of course!" Kitty says. "I've got loads planned for FLARP, regular LARP, Tabletop, Online, and Method!"

"We should go laser tagging sometime," you suggest.

"Trust me, Laser tag is on the list," Kitty says impishly. "You're both gonna love what I have planned!"

"Right, Man-PMS is doing this thing too," you say. "But wait, Kitty?"

"Yeah?"

"Why me?" you ask. "Shouldn't you be the club's president?"

"Oh, I'm not a leader," Kitty says sheepishly. "People don't listen to me. I can't even reach a podium! But you, Dee, people listen to you. Same with Karkitty, people'll listen to him 'cause he's loud. And I'm not a good leader anyway. I'm more of a huntress." She snarls in a catlike way to prove her point.

"Guess that settles it," you shrug. "Could be fun, right, Spiderbitch?"

"It'd better be," said Spiderbitch grumbles. You hear her fold her arms.

"It will be," Kitty promises. "Just wait!"

You hear her dash off with a skip in her step. "Oh, and the first meeting's today after school, but meet Carlos and I in the library during third for an executive's meeting!"

"I'll be there!" you call, then turn to Vicky.

"FLARP!" you coax. "Laser tag! Rock climbing!"

You can feel her resolve crumble. She hasn't been laser tagging since before the Incident, and neither have you, but it's the new sensory experience that'll be that much awesomer, right? Lillian'll think you're th3 r4dd3st l177l3 s1s on th3 block, for sur3!


	3. Be the Angry Short Guy

The Astrology Club

Chapter 3: Carlos

Your name is Carlos Vantas and today just isn't your day.

Of course, to the observer, every day isn't your day. You're always ornery, pissed-off, prickly, and not to mentioned angry at anything and everything that passes your line of vision.

But this day is different, because it was the day Kitty LeJaune, resident ambiguously-disordered-crazy-shipper-roleplay-catg irl had the _retarded_ idea to start some sort of retarded club for retarded people.

And guess who's the new president?

Yep, that's you.

You _guess_ you could've said no more firmly. You _suppose_ you could've looked away when she turned on the big kitten eyes. You _probably_ should've run as fast as you could in the other direction.

But could anyone blame you? She promised pie.

Better be the most fucking delicious pie anyone ever fucking tasted, or you're gonna snap like Blaise's bro and cut your own tongue out after deafening your girlfriend.

That is, if you _had_ one, which you don't, which is probably fortunate for her. Or him, you're not particularly picky. Girls, guys, what does it matter? It's just gender.

Ah, the gender binary. Since your brother Christian discovered Tumblr, it's been nonstop "patriarchy feminism equality anti-slut-shaming equality blah blah I'm-a-dork blah." He's got good material, he's just so fucking annoying you want to smash his fucking face with a spoon. Luckily he's going off to college, hehehe.

Oh look, you laughed. Congratulations, you gave a fuck.

At any rate, you're president of Kittygirl's club for some shitty stupid reason only she knows, probably something to do with her retarded webcomic. What's it called? Roomjammed?

You stare at the stupid little bright red card in your hand. It's the same size as an ID card or your driver's license, with your ugly-ass school picture in the little photo rectangle.

It reads:

_Carlos Vantas- Junior- 16_

_ Cancer_

_ Club President_

_ Red Team_

_ Karkat Vantas- Lowblood_

_ sig.__ WHY ARE WE EVEN DOING THIS LEJAUNE._

The shitty picture's on the left. You don't know what your sign has to do with it, or what 'Karkat' means. You guess it's also from her comic. Hopefully you won't be forced to read it. It's probably shitty enough without it being shoved down your throat by this adorable, tiny sophomore only an inch shorter than you.

Not that you'd ever say it to her face, of course. You've already made her cry once, and that was about the biggest mistake you'd ever made. The way her face crumpled like it was the end of the world, and the corners of her mouth fell and her lower lip trembled, and then she just shook there with her head down and her shoulders curled in, making no sounds but these little whimpers and shallow breaths in as her chest and shoulders shook and tears that wouldn't stop rolled out of her olive-green eyes and down her cheeks and onto her shirt, and it was about the most heartbreaking thing you'd ever seen. It almost made your heart melt, or the icy black one you claimed to have. Insulting her skill as an artist would totally destroy her, and you couldn't bear to do that again, not after last time. So no matter how shitty the stupid comic was, you'd never say it outright.

See, you have a soul, too.

Unfortunately, your soul prevented you from saying no. Much as you hate to admit it, you kind of have a soft spot for the little weirdo.

So long as you don't end up chaperoning field trips of screaming children to the observatory or whatever the fuck Astrology has to do with, you'll be fine. Not even remotely nice or pleasant, but fine.

"What's on your mind, Karkles?"

You roll your eyes. It's this doofus again, the one named John, which is about the most fucking stupid name ever and probably fake because of the disdain he has for you, which he hides behind a cheerful-ass goofy grin just to spite you.

"None of your business, fuckass," you say, stuffing the card into the pocket of your hoodie, but he's seen it.

Quick as the wind, he snatches the little card out of your hands and plops down next to you on the bench.

"Oh, Kitty's starting a club for Housetrapped?" John says while you grab for the card. He puts his hand on your forehead so you can't reach. Fuck, you _hate_ when people do that. "Cool!"

"Give it back, shitstain!" you say. "You thorny pansy-ass dildo!"

Inventing new insults is a good way to clear your head when you're trying to study or block out Christian ranting about anon hate.

John the thorny pansy-ass dildo doesn't yield.

"Whoa, your Housetrapped name is Karkat?" he says. "Sounds neat! Mine's just John. But I'm the main character!"

"Give the fucking card back," you grumble. "That's mine!"

"Two seconds," John promises. Fuck, you hate that guy. "And you're president? Whoa, Kitty must really like you! I thought she was gonna make Marina president!"

"Kitty does not like me," you huff. "We buried that issue a long time ago."

"Yeah she does," says John. "Why do you think she hangs around after-"

"DO NOT SPEAK OF IT," you deadpan. "WE DO NOT SPEAK OF IT."

"I was just gonna say after you lost her pen," John says oh-so-innocently. Fuck him, you knew what he was gonna say.

"Anyway," you say as John tosses the card back to its rightful owner, you. "Do you even know what Housetrapped's about?"

"I don't fucking care, you slutty gerbil," you say. "Fucking brainless sack of cake batter."

"That's a new one!" John says. "How much time do you spend thinking up names for me?"

"Don't feel so special, constipated turkey baster," you grumble. (Around four hours is the answer.) "I don't reserve my insults for you."

"Constipated turkey baster," John repeats. "Wow! That's kinda neat!"

"Fuck you too," you say. "Don't you have somewhere to be? Like class?"

"Shit, you're right," John says, dashing off. "Seeya later, Karkles!"

You whoop mentally in relief that he's gone.

This lousy goddamn stupid club'd better be worth it, and that pie'd better be the greatest thing since sliced bread.


	4. Be the Armless Awesome Lady

The Astrology Club

Chapter 4: Vicky

Your name is Victoria Seeker(not Nette, birth certificate be damned) and school is boring.

It's not like you don't try. You do. You just find it boring. Asymptotes? Mongols? Expository essays? Bleh. You have better things to do.

But you don't want to flunk out of everything because that would suck, so you do the work with average effort and receive average grades in return. Grades are a stupid measure of intelligence, you think, so why should you even care what a bunch of numbers say?

Classes would be way better if you didn't have to sit through them. But unfortunately for you, you have to. It'd be awesome if you had the same classes as Dee, but you don't. Special education and all. You're only half-blind, you don't count.

But when the bell rings and you're released for third period, also known as free period for 1/4 of the school, you stretch and jump out of your seat. It wouldn't hurt to give Dee a hand at LeJaune's meeting.

They're already there when you arrive, Carlos, Kitty, and Dee, sitting at a table in the back corner of the library, sheltered by high bookshelves loaded with everything a six-to-seventeen-year-old would ever want to read. There's an air of secrecy, especially since the circular table is shaded by the surrounding tall bookshelves and lit by the screen of Kitty's cell phone, placed face-up in the center of the table. There's also the fact that Kitty's talking in a hushed voice, which you suppose makes sense because the true purpose of the Astrology Club is against school rules.

You pull up a chair and sit.

"Glad you could come, Spiderbitch," Dee says to you in a hushed voice, leaning in your direction.

"You too?" you wonder.

"Shh!" Kitty hisses. "You'll draw attention to us!"

"Not like we already aren't," Carlos grumbles softly. "Whispering in a dark corner of the library about Astrology and teams and shit. We totally aren't drawing any motherfuckin' attention to ourselves."

Man-PMS is ignored.

"I suppose you're wondering what this is all about," Kitty whispers, steepling her fingers.

"Not really," Carlos and Dee says in unison.

"Shh!" Kitty reminds them. "Anyway. I've called you all here today to discuss an important matter- The Astrology Club."

"Remind me why this is a thing?" Carlos says in an irritated mutter.

"Because it is," Kitty whispers. "Now let me talk!"

Carlos huffs and lets Kitty finish.

"The Astrology Club," Kitty begins, a smile spreading across her face. She's always seemed catlike to you, what with the little cleft in her upper lip and her bigger-than-usual canine teeth and the oval-shaped pupils, but now she looks downright feline and very dangerous. "Is a group created by myself to spread the message of spontaneity to the public through secret, organized meetups that will be filmed and placed on my YouTube channel. We will use aliases, Housetrapped aliases, to be precise, and we must never breathe a word about it to anyone. So far, the only ones who know are the four of us, Calliana, my sister, and her three friends Horace, Lillian, and Mitchell."

"Lillian's in on it?" Dee whispers, her eyebrows shooting up.

"She and Mitchell and Horace are filming the events," Kitty explains.

"Hold on," you chime in. "What's with the whole 'spontaneity' thing?"

"Spontaneity: the condition of being spontaneous, or the act of participating in unplanned and/or impulsive behavior," Kitty defines. "Our purpose is to spread this message that doing things just for the fun of it is okay, and that everyone's life shouldn't be defined by lines and schedules."

"What if they like lines and schedules?" Dee asks.

"That's okay too," says Kitty, being remarkably zen in your opinion. "But not everyone should have to live their life within the lines."

"Anarchy," you whisper, a grin spreading across your face.

"I guess?" Kitty shrugs. "I never thought of it that way."

"Dude," Dee says, also grinning widely and smacking your arm to grab your attention. She never misses. "This'll be so _rad!"_

"You know it!" you say excitedly.

"Shh!" Kitty hisses again, but she's looking pretty psyched herself.

Even Carlos looks interested. "Right," he says. "But what about the pie?"

"That's later," says Kitty. "Murie's bringing some by after school for the first meeting."

"Did she make it?" Carlos asks warily.

"No," Kitty sighs in relief. "It won't try to come to life again."

"Thank fucking God," Dee says.

"So, what's my alias?" you can't help but ask.

"You'll find out after school today," says Kitty. "That's when everyone else's getting their membership cards."

You whistle in appreciation. "I gotta say, Kittycat, this's pretty impressive."

"I've been thinking about something like this for weeks," Kitty says. "But last night I got the purrfect idea to make a club for it! See, I'd purreviously thought that it'd just be out-of-school, organized through Pesterchum. But a secret school club is so much more fun! We're spreading a good message, de-stressing from homework and studying, and maybe later on we'll set out tip jars and raise money for the school!"

Carlos nods in grudging appreciation. "I gotta say, LeJaune," he says. "Something tells me this's gonna be pretty fucking awesome."

"I hope so~" Kitty sings. "Now you kittens get to class, I have stuff to plan and cards to make!"

"Seeya later, Cupid," you say as you, Dee, and Carlos exit the library. You hope Kitty can pull this off without getting all of you arrested. Again. It'd be your third time in a holding cell, but who's counting?

Either way, tod8y w8ld 8e the 8est fucking d8y ever and youre gonna m8ke damn sure of 8t!


	5. Be the Vampire Fashion Queen

The Astrology Club

Chapter 5: Katarina

Your name is apparently Kanaya Maryam and you're apparently a vampire.

"So remind me," your eighth-grader-just-a-friend Rose says as the two of you walk home together. "Why are you covered in gray face paint?"

"I am not supposed to say," you sigh. "We shall just say I am too good of a friend."

"Let me guess," Rose says. "Was this Kitty's idea?"

"However could you tell," you deadpan.

"Well, considering her cult favorite webcomic, Housetrapped, which I'm sure you know all about by now, being her friend, I would guess that you are dressed as your inserted character from Kitty's comic, a Troll," Rose says thoughtfully. "Your actions undoubtedly make Kitty feel very appreciated as a friend, since dressing like this, even merely to humor her and with much prompting, proves that you value Kitty as a friend and an artist, and that you listen to her even when it seems like you're not."

Rose's habit of psychoanalysis both infuriates and attracts you, though you hide the latter as best you can. You're all of sixteen(your birthday was last week) and her fourteenth birthday is not until December. As far as you know, it's taboo to court someone that much younger than you until you're both eighteen, after which it's socially acceptable.

"I suppose," you say carefully. "I had not thought of this before."

Rose smiles in a satisfied manner. "Does the paint itch?" she asks thoughtfully.

"Slightly," you shrug. "I will wash it off when I get home."

Rose nods and the two of you walk on in silence. The early September sun's dipping below the treeline. Trees and upper-middle-class houses are beginning to cast shadows over the sidewalks and streets, lit by orange sodium-vapor streetlights. Shadows are the bright blue of early dusk. It's your favorite time of day, when the shadows of the night begin to slink into the open. In addition the fading light hits Rose's pale golden hair just right so that it looks white and ethereal, floating in a fine mane about her face. You can only hope it flatters your complexion the way it does hers.

"So since you're a vampire," Rose says after a minute. Of course she would have to bring that up. "Does that mean you'll drink my blood now?"

"Kitty called me a 'Rainbow Drinker,'" you say. "Apparently this fact is attributed to my blood color and something about a 'hemospectrum,' which, given my knowledge of the English language and Latin root words, I can assume is a social hierarchy based upon the hues of one's blood or other bodily fluids."

"I understand, but does it mean you'll drink my blood?" Rose asks.

"No, I will not," you say. "It _is_ only a game, after all."

"Just curious," Rose says, her shoulders lifting in a shrug. "I think you missed a turn."

She's right. You were so caught up in conversation and Rose's incredible glowing complexion that you neglected to see your adoptive older brother Blaise with Jade riding atop his shoulders turn the corner onto Parson's Lane, Rose's home street.

You backtrack. "Apologies," you say. "I was distracted."

"I believe you," Rose says. "It's a very lovely evening, after all."

"Yes," you say. It's true in part, it's very pretty out today. But just seeing and being around Rose feels very... right, you suppose, to you. Her appearance is very pleasing, yes, as it always is, but you really grew to like her thanks to her personality. She's smart and thoughtful and mature, but at the same time she has the curiosity and wonder of a child, even though she may be thirteen already. She shines, like your own little star in the sky. You applaud her parents for raising such a wonderful child and hope she never loses her sense of curiosity.

Unfortunately this leads to distraction when walking her home.

You and Rose turn onto Parson's. You spot your friend and fellow Astrology Club member, Terry, wheeling away from the Strider-Lalonde(Strilonde?) house. He and David usually move more quickly, usually because they take a faster route. You would take the same route, but this one is closer to your house, plus it's prettier and gives you more time to spend with Rose. It isn't often you get to spend time with her, after all, just study halls and walking her home. People might raise eyebrows if they saw two people both of the female gender-or any genders, for that matter- when one is a significant amount older than the other, spending lots of time together, and raised eyebrows are one thing you'd like to avoid.

You stop and watch Rose walk up her yard and to her porch, and wave to her when she disappears inside the door to her family. A strange family, certainly not conventional by any sense, but a family nonetheless. Besides, yours is likely stranger.

On the subject of your family, you're given a healthy dose of its chaos when you walk in the door.

Immediately, the smoke alarm goes off and Blaise shouts "Sorry, mom!" He must have been trying to make waffles again. Your older sister Pandora's door is flung open and death metal music screams out her speaker over the jazz music, your father's favorite, that had been playing, and she shouts about keeping the noise down because she's trying to pack. Your mother shouts back about the Metallica volume limit in this house, and Pandora retorts that it's not Metallica, it's Slayer, to which your mother replies that it's the same principle. Your father shouts at everyone to keep quiet uselessly while he opens all the windows in the kitchen to let the smoke out, and Marcella the parrot squawks. Your grandmother, Mama Dolorosa, sits serenely in the center of the chaos and noise, reading one of her old novels brought over from her country in the Middle East, which changes every time you ask. You've never read it, but Mama Dolorosa tells you that it's about an adventure in South America and has lots of good imagery. You're still not sure what "imagery" is, but your English teacher appears to think it's the opposite of what your class writes. Mama Dolorosa is never fazed by anything. The family's golden retriever, Theo, always hides his head in Mama Dolorosa's lap when chaos occurs, which is often. Theo's a skittish pup.

All in all, a normal evening in your house.

You sigh.

"Honey, why are you gray?" your father asks as you pass him pacifying the smoke detector in the dining room.

"It was a school club thing," you say. "Kitty's idea."

"Fun," he says. "Is that why you're a vampire, too?"

"No, that is the natural structure of my teeth," you say. "Your teeth are shaped like that, too, remember?"

"Oh, silly me," your father laughs, and you have to laugh too. "I guess I've gotta get 'em filed down again before I go on a bloodsucking rampage, huh?"

"The Candycorn Vampire must be contained," you say with a smile. You and your father have joked about this since your canine teeth grew in larger and sharper than the normal baby's, just like his. He likes to joke that he's the host of a Vampire alter ego that goes out and drinks the blood of innocent mortals to placate the Candycorn Vampire's intense hunger for B+. (You'd never, ever let your father know this, but you know that he chose B+ because it's your mother's blood type. And he thought it would be secret.)

Your father laughs, then the smoke alarm beeps again and he whacks it with a broom.

You excuse yourself from the scene and walk upstairs to your studio, which is exactly one-fourth of the third floor of your house. You hardly ever sleep in your bedroom, mostly because you're somewhat of a workaholic. This is evidenced by the constant clutter in your studio because you never find time to clean it up. You admit it, you're somewhat OCD. But only somewhat! You've only risked your life to make something orderly once! It's not a condition!

You plop your backpack in its usual location, the beanbag chair by the door, and kick off your flats. Then you walk to the conjoined bathroom shared with your parent's library of Sherlock Holmes, Charles Dickens, and law books and begin to wash off the gray paint. Your hands first, then your neck, then your face. You've applied it so meticulously it's almost sad to see your hard work go down the drain. But it was starting to burn, and you're sure that if you kept it on it'd clog up your pores for sure. You've never had a pimple in your life and you don't want to start in your Sophomore year.

"Eeey," you hear Blaise's lazy drawl say as the trapdoor in the bathroom floor opens. Why does he always use the trapdoor when he knows perfectly well there are stairs available? Of course, he'd have to go through the library, which he doesn't like. He says it makes him feel bad vibes, whatever that means.

"Hello," you say, using the washcloth to scrub the paint out of your eyebrows. "Is something on your mind, Blaise?"

"Nah," he says, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. "Jus' wonderin' wassup with my fave lil' sis."

"What is up is that I cannot get this accursed paint out of my eyebrows," you say, trying not to furrow said gray eyebrows in irritation. "It drives me mad."

"That sucks," Blaise says sympathetically. "When my paint can't get outta my eyebrows, it drives me up the motherfuckin' wall, y'know?"

"I don't, but I appreciate the sympathy," you say.

Blaise nods thoughtfully. "Hey Kat, didja like the club meeting today? I thought it was pretty motherfuckin' fun, hehe!"

"It was enjoyable," you admit. "I never knew Kitty could put her mind to things with such drive and passion."

"The name thing, too," Blaise says. "Gamzee Makara's pretty motherfuckin' awesome, right?"

"Sure," you say, humoring your brother. "I fear the day father finds out my name is Kanaya and calls me the Kandycorn Vampire. With a K this time, because it was an attempt at a pun. Did you find it appropriately humorous?"

"Eeh," Blaise says with a shrug and an apologetic face. "Better work on it, sis."

"I shall endeavor to," you say, smiling with success as you finally have your face meticulously free of gray paint.

"Anyway," says Blaise, standing back up. "Later, lil' sis!" he ambles back down the ladder, closing the trapdoor behind him, probably going back to his room. You know for a fact he has an essay for history class due tomorrow and has been putting it off for weeks, and is probably going to pound out an essay that will miraculously be done by nine-thirty and miraculously going to recieve a passing grade.

You do all of your homework meticulously in school, using any and all free time you're given. This is so you can work on the things that _really_ matter: maintaining relationships between your friends, and sewing. You're working on your Junior Prom dress, the final one you'll need. You've already finished the dresses for Rachael, Deanna, and Vicky, and they're perfect. When you're finished, you'll make nice dresses for the rest of your female friends, plus Gamzee, who has excellent taste in women's clothing and because he's your brother, so they don't feel left out. You hate making people feel that way, accidentally or no. It's just the way you work.

Spontaneity, however, is not exactly the way you work. You're meticulous and precise and exact, and like to organize everything into perfect little boxes and labeled with neat handwriting. Being random and impulsive isn't your forte, and neither is washing off a gallon of gray face paint.

But, as Rose said, this club, this Astrology Club, means a lot to Kitty, and being a good friend, you'll see if you can make it work. Besides, you may find playing Kanaya Maryam Is Rather Fun After All.


End file.
